Unleashed
by Lizard2
Summary: ~PART 11 - RAUNCHY GOODNESS!~ *SLASH* -Previously posted as 'Admission'- Whilst imprisoned in Spain, Horatio and Archie feel something growing between them which they cannot quite control...
1. Part 1

**_Title:_**"UNLEASHED"__

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**_Pairing:_** Archie/Horatio.

**_Rating:_** PG-13 for now, but may increase with later parts.

**_Summary:_******This is a revised version of the story 'Admission' that I posted previously, an angsty series portraying the relationship that develops between Horatio and Archie, beginning in the sick room in 'The Duchess & the Devil'. Please R&R, you know you want to...**__**

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**PART 1 - HORATIO**

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**_By Lizard_******

I cannot do it. How do the others expect me to leave him behind and make an escape? Yes, I know that without him it would be easier to get out, but...I cannot. My conscience will not allow it. Look at him, lying there - can they not see the pain, the misery he must have suffered for these past years? How dare they even contemplate leaving him here to the mercy of these Spanish brutes? Every time I look at him I cannot help but notice all his torment etched clearly upon his face and in his eyes.

That merriment of old is not there to look back at me and brighten my day. I must do whatever I can to bring it back, for it is my fault he has ended up here. That one night - I could not persuade the other men in the Jolly boat that he needn't be knocked on the head to keep him quiet. I could have held him tightly until the fit had passed. But I did not. I was a damned coward. I do not know why I could not hold him, but I dared not try - it felt wrong, as though it were something unclean that I had no right to imagine.

I admit that I wanted to hold him. Who would not want to comfort their friend when he is in pain? Yet I dared not do so, though my conscience wrenched at my inaction. Perhaps I felt awkward and did not wish to reveal this weak, pathetic nature of mine to the other men. When Archie suffers, I feel honour-bound to suffer alongside him. I cannot explain it - in my mind, I know that what I feel for Archie is right and just. The truest sort of friendship, pure, unsullied by jealousy or competition. And yet I fear to act out my feelings of closeness. What holds me back? Damnation, I do not know the answer.

And now, we are here in this dank pit of a cell. Alone. I feel liberated - without the others to see me, I can indulge myself and look at his face for hours as he lies asleep. That familiar profile that I would recognise instantly. He awakes often in a fever or crying out due to some demonic vision from his subconscious. And I hold him - hold him tightly until I have absorbed his pain and he has relaxed. Breathing deeply and calmly into my neck, dampening the skin there. Even when he has recovered, I cannot let him go. Always within me is this fear that he will leave. That I have not yet convinced him of his importance to me.

Sometimes I am amazed he allows me to do this. I'm sure he knows of my weakness and yet he allows me to embrace him in such a manner. Almost as if he were a child, or as if I were a child and he a much beloved toy. But toys can be discarded, and he is irreplaceable. I cannot survive without him - I do not know why. A commander of men should not feel so close to anyone, friendships and acquaintances are always so untenable in the navy. But I cannot help myself.

Perhaps it is because he was the first one to befriend me on the Justinian. But I have made many friends after Archie, and I have never felt as strong a link as this with any one of them. When I am with him, I feel strengthened. I know that what I do is truly appreciated - not merely a job well-done; he understands the heartfelt effort I put into my work, how closely akin I feel to the sea and the navy.

Perhaps *I* am the child, always seeking approval for some task he has completed to the best of his ability; and Archie the parent, who smilingly exclaims how delighted he is and how proud of me.

I wonder what he thinks of me now as he lies on his cot beside my own. I know he does not hold it against me for causing him to be cast adrift in the first place all those years ago. I blame myself tirelessly, as I deserve; and yet my dear friend reproaches me for pursuing such self-punishment. His heart is too pure and generous to feel any malevolence. 

I often question why he was so kind to me that cold November morning aboard the Justinian. What on earth made him want to befriend a snivelling boy who was so unsuited to the sea that he was bloody seasick at Spithead? I do not know and I do not care. All that concerns me is that I hold onto his friendship with both hands and never let it loose. Can he not see how much he means to me? How could he even have considered starving himself to death? Does he not feel that our relationship is worthy of his life?

No, I will not think in such a manner, for I will only become more incensed. When one has suffered as much as he, they are bound to feel that life is not worth living. I cannot understand why or how. All I can do is show him that I am here for him, and that if he goes, I will surely die.

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	2. Part 2

**PART 2 - ARCHIE**

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**_By Lizard_******

Clever bastard. Using that 'almost-about-to-cry' ruse to make me eat and drink. And weakling that I am, I fall for it. I can't help myself. He leans over me as I lie on my cot, determined to ignore him. And I hear his breathing quaver as he repeats that old phrase "We need you" again and again and again...Despite myself, I feel a clenching in my chest as he strives to make me remember all those good times aboard the Indy. Oh, there are plenty of memories, he does not really have to try.

I know he thinks that I am being selfish by choosing to end my existence. More fool he - what good am I? What purpose have I ever served upon this Earth except to cause an inconvenience? I know that Horatio feels he needs my friendship, but the time he speaks of is long gone. He is chasing after a dream, the simpleton. He doesn't realise he has no need of me - he's found his footing and has flourished a damned sight more than I ever will.

I am the one tagging along behind him wherever he goes; can he not see that? I will forever be behind him, hindering him in some way. So why not leave him? Break off the friendship for good, for it does me no favours. I have tried, but it seems I did not try hard enough. If only there were a merciful God that would remove me from this world. Two birds with one stone then, I guess - the world would be rid of Archie Kennedy, and Archie Kennedy would be rid of Horatio Hornblower.

The man has thrown me into overwhelming confusion! I had everything planned, and then he has to come along and ruin it all. I don't want to feel so dependent - I don't want to feel that I need Horatio beside me always. When he is not there before my eyes, it is easy to convince myself that wallowing in hell wouldn't be such a bad thing. But then he leans close to me, bombards me with all his feelings, his pleas that he will not survive without me. What bollocks. But alas, I am a weak selfish man, and I feel touched that he says he needs me. It is not true - how can it be? And yes, he might need me as a companion, someone who understands him through and through. But that is not enough. He will be better off without me there to hamper his success. A true commander of men has no friends, everyone knows that. I know it, and yet I want to start living again.

Truth be told, I never truly wanted to die. There was always that niggling flame of hope deep within me that Horatio might come and stop me from doing this. Starving is not the only method of suicide - there were many opportunities for me to slit the inside of my wrist, and the beams on the ceilings would have been ideal to hang from with a bed sheet. I wanted to die slowly, to wallow in my feelings of uselessness. But I know that I always had that spark in the back of my heart hoping that something, someone, *Horatio*, would save me from myself.

What a pathetic creature I am! I could not even commit suicide with conviction. But it does no good to dwell upon it now. Horatio needs me, and so I shall live. I feel that I am wanted, and that feeling is far too pleasurable to relinquish. See how selfish I am? Here is my dearest friend distraught and worried, and I change my mind because I wish to bask in his distress and concern. This self-regarding nature of mine disgusts me, but I cannot help it. And besides, it is more than just feeling good. I believe I now have a purpose - be it merely as the friend of a hero. 

I do not know why I first befriended him when he first joined the Justinian - I felt compelled. There was something about him that made me feel he was my other half - he reminded me of myself when I was younger. Shy, uncertain, awkward, withdrawn. I wanted to make him grow, to make him realise his full potential, to give him the friendship and support he needed to succeed. And succeed he has. Oh, I do not take credit for his accomplishments. But I was there, watching him, guiding him through those early days when he knew no better. And stupidly, I became attached. Too attached. He came into my cell here. I saw him look down at me; oh, the expression on his face when he realised I was not dead! Those innocent eyes wide open in shock and bewilderment. Always he has this effect on me. An absence of *three years*, and immediately that old fondness shot through me. I was so disgusted at my ridiculous weak spot that I could not even face him. I realised then that if I ever had enough resolve to separate myself from him, it would have to be with death. A mere parting would be agony.

How morbid have my thoughts become; I wonder what he would think were he to realise I have contemplated suicide on a regular basis since I began naval life? Call me disgusting, call me stupid, call me insane. I call it being realistic.

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	3. Part 3

**PART 3 - HORATIO**

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**_By Lizard_******

I have become less afraid now. His pallor has gone and he is less adverse to being shaved and having his hair combed. I find that I enjoy performing these menial tasks for him. It makes me feel as though I am bringing him back to his former self, and it gives me the opportunity I crave to be near him. To touch him. To know that he is alive. I can almost believe that when he is well again we will be returning straight to the Indy amongst general celebration and congratulation. The perfect ending to a tale.

We talk together often. Inane subjects, such as what our favourite foods are, amusing dreams we have had, always keeping the air joyous and light-hearted. And through it all, I cannot relax. A strange tension holds me in suspension whenever I am in this room with him. It is indescribable - but I keep feeling that there is something just waiting to spring up without warning.

Our friendship was never a gentle easy relationship - it progressed in leaps and bounds in those first days of our acquaintance. Then severed by that swine Simpson. And now this unexpected reunion. But that was several weeks ago. Something is sure to come between us once again - I do not know what but I dread its approach. So far these past few weeks I have endeavoured to reveal to him as much of myself as I can lest we are separated once again.

I tell him about my father, my school life; old childhood memories filling the sickroom with its innocent yet poignant scent. He listens intently, his head cocked gently to one side; but his eyes remain blank. Oh, they shine when I attempt to make a joke and he laughs at my incompetence. But I still feel his detachment. I cannot help but be frustrated - I have revealed so much to him, and still he blocks me out. I tell myself that he needs time, that he has just been through a thoroughly draining experience. But I cannot help feeling offended.

I am not being fair. He *has* talked about himself - mostly about his life in the theatre; sometimes about a girl he had back home. We crack the usual lewd jokes about being caught beneath the docks or behind haystacks and such. I tell him that he is lucky to have found a girl. He already knows of my inexperience in such matters - my knowledge of the mechanisms involved are purely from the textbook. 

Whenever the issue of sex arises I feel a barrier coming between us. He knows I feel totally unequipped with the experience needed to be able converse on such matters, and he uses this to draw a discussion to a halt. I had thought him cured - but it seems I was wrong. There is still some niggling problem within him that is preventing him from being his normal self. But, I think to myself, he will never be his normal self again. He has changed - and it is I that caused his alteration. He may claim otherwise, but I know that what I say is true. 

Perhaps in his mind's eye, I have changed as well. I hope I have become someone he admires. Why do I feel this need to impress him? When I am with other men, I do not care much of what they think - perhaps it is arrogance on my part, as I am aware that my reputation precedes me. But with Archie, I am not the great hero. I am still a seventeen year old boy with no friends. I am aware that when I am angry with him or when I feel that he has spoken out of turn, I revert to my formal distanced demeanour with him. And he gives me that look, for he knows exactly what I am doing.

I cannot hide anything from him, and yet he will not be open with me. I doubt he will ever reveal himself to anyone. And I hate it - I feel disadvantaged, tricked, fooled. After all my coaxing and cajoling him back into life, I have ended up opening up the deepest recesses of my memories, while he has remained as before. Unresponsive. Living, yes, but not alive. 

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	4. Part 4

**PART 4 - ARCHIE**

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**_By Lizard_******

Sunken, wretched - a shipwreck, am I. What am I going to do with myself? Every time there is a knock at the door, there is a lurching pain in my chest, hoping it is him. And vain beast that I am, I want to be presentable for him. Not sickly and pale and stinking to high heaven. One would almost think we were a married couple - undoubtedly I would be the wife. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. Emotional. He has noticed how I have distanced myself from him. I know - I can see the hurt in his face when I lie back on my cot and refuse to respond to a question, or when I bring up the subject of sex to shut him up. It amazes me how one so handsome and admired could be so inexperienced in this area.

But what use is this distancing doing to me anyway? It only makes him frustrated and silence, leaving the air between us thick and charged with unspoken words of resentment. Yet I know that that is preferable to letting him see how dear he is to me - my guiding light, if you will. How ridiculous I have become - he has made me soft in the head. I must keep him at arm's length, lest he veritably takes over my mind. Hah, what's the use in trying - he has already taken over. Dare I say it, but I think about him too often for comfort - wondering what he is doing, thinking, feeling, what he thinks about *me*, feels about me...

I must stop this nonsense before it gets out of hand - I try so hard to cut off our conversations when they get too intense, when I fear that I might blurt out something stupid in my unguarded state. But it is no use - Horatio sees through my disguise and, in disgust, reverts to that old commandeering attitude of his. The impatience and hurt in his eyes wrench at my insides something awful, and often an apology is on the tip of my tongue, before I remember my resolve and hold back. But doesn't he see? Doesn't he understand that he musn't...musn't get too *close*?

Whenever he is near me, there is an almost visible electricity between us. I feel it prickling up my spine if he accidentally brushes my hand, or when I am caught within the gaze of those melting brown eyes of his. This unbelievable tension - surely he must sense it too? It cannot all be within my head. Why, every moment he is in this cell with me, I feel it there hanging above us. A rain cloud just waiting to *burst* with a deluge and drench us both to the skin. Even now my skin crawls with the thought of it. Something too pleasurable. Too dangerous.

A knock on the door - at last, he has come from his daily stroll about the prison grounds. Rubbing his eyes to help them adjust to the dark cell compared to the brilliant sunshine outside; like a kitten pawing sleepily at its eyes. He looks so content and relaxed - oh, that I may have some of his contentment. What is his secret? Huh, no secret - he is the great Horatio Hornblower, after all. No wonder he is so at ease - undoubtedly he has already formed some plan in his mind to escape to the Indy. He sits down and, once again, we converse. Always conversing - I shall never grow tired of his voice or his presence here in this cell with me. But there must be more than this? I know there is, and fearful though I am, I long to embrace it.

Ah, says a little voice in my head. But you know exactly what you long to embrace, do you not? Who are you trying to fool? Go on, tell him. Tell your dear Horatio that you're a dirty-minded faggot just like Simpson, and you want to do to him exactly what Simpson did to you, no matter how much it hurts him. Explosive thoughts within my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut to drive them away. NO! Enough of this stupidity! So what if I feel this way about him? It will all be for naught - he doesn't feel that way about me, and I thank God for that. For only God knows what sort of trouble would be unleashed if we were to let things take their course...

I turn my head back to look at him again. While my mind has been whirling with such filthy thoughts, he has been gaily chatting about another childhood memory of his. His eyes become clear and animated as he describes his first kite-flying session with his father. The happy remembrance of his younger days brings a dainty flush to his cheeks. As pretty as a maid. What am I thinking? He is no maid - he is a man. A beautiful, honourable man. My best friend, and I *must* keep my distance. There is no other way. I cannot kill myself - Horatio feels he needs me to comfort him. Almost as much as I need his friendship and approval. 

We need each other - hah, how pathetically romantic. And yet, despite my cynicism, there is a strange clenching sensation in the pit of my stomach at the thought of our companionship. What a feeble word to call it by - we are more than companions...We are...We could be...

No. Delusional fool! Stop thinking like an idiot. Black out such wicked thoughts - Horatio does not deserve to be tainted by them. I can feel my face draining of expression and an uncomfortable hiatus appears in our conversation. He turns his head towards me with a puzzled smile - and I can see the exact moment when he realises I have blocked him out. I *have* to do it. He does not understand, the pitiful innocent, but he will be grateful afterwards. His face, first flushed with contentment, is now flushed with anger. His eyes spark as he stares at me in disbelief. I long to say sorry, to tell him to continue, but it is too late. He stands up and walks to the opposite end of the cell, as he has always done when he is either contemplating something earnestly or is angry with me.

But then he turns towards me, opens his lips to begin speaking; closes them again, and then determinedly walks forcefully towards my cot once again. I cannot prevent a sharp thrill trailing from the bottom of my spine to the hairs on the back of my neck. Both our eyes widened and alert, I watch his approach and await the arrival of the storm.

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	5. Part 5

**PART 5****__**

**_By Lizard_**

"Archie, what is wrong?" The seemingly gentle tone makes Archie start slightly in surprise.

"What do you mean, Horatio? There's nothing wrong with me. Just a little tired, is all. Perhaps you've talked us both to exhaustion" Belatedly Archie realises the unintended insult, but it is too late to correct himself now. He sees Horatio's face wreathed with emotion and his lips moving, on the verge of saying something. Again he stops and walks back to the far wall of the cell, staring fixedly at a particular patch of damp in the hope that it would restore a little of his composure. Evidently to no end, for he swung around, eyes blazing with an unnatural light, his feelings of betrayal and hurt tumbling out with his words.

"No, Archie. *What* is wrong? I have noticed you continually cutting off our conversations like this." Taking in a deep breath to feed his courage, he continues, "You are *not* tired - I have looked after you long enough to know when you are genuinely weary. This is ridiculous! I've been trying to liven up our captivity so that you may become well again and we may escape this wretched place. And yet you are...you are..." He halts the overflowing words, unable to describe Archie's charge of offence. Suddenly, he sees how inconsequential his so-called pains have been. Who is he to say that Archie is not tired? Perhaps he is just weary of Horatio's presence and his constant chatter. Perhaps he has never *wanted* me to look after him, Horatio acknowledges bashfully. Remembering once again with a start that it was in fact *he* who had caused this fundamental change in Archie by knocking him out senseless all that time ago...

Meanwhile Archie, ever sitting in his cot, watches yet another flush spread over his friend's face. Why is he so emotionally strung of a sudden? Perhaps that Duchess of his has been leading him a merry dance or two, he thinks bitterly. Surprised as he notes the slight pang of jealousy within his own breast, once again he berates himself for having thought such a thing about Horatio. You are not worthy of him, you bloody idiot! Get it through your thick head and stop being jealous over something you can never have. Should never have, and will never have. Yet for all his harsh and cynical thoughts, Archie still feels that faint yearning inside.

Thus, Horatio Hornblower and Archie Kennedy stay silent and morose in that dim cell, both of their faces reddened with guilt and chagrin in different measure. The silence becoming too unbearable, Archie parts his lips to form some semblance of an apology, *anything* to sort this mess out. But it is too late. Overcome with shame, guilt and disgust at his own unfeeling stupidity, Horatio walks towards the cell door and asks to be let out in order to beg an audience with Don Massaredo - he may as well get the blasted matter over and done with now, mightn't he? Archie does not stop him, but watches him go regretfully, gazing at his tensely-set shoulders and the despondent tilt to his head. But even as he continues to chastise himself sternly, Archie cannot prevent his faithless eyes from appreciatively glancing down to his friend's thighs and buttocks oh-so-well-defined in those godforsaken tight breeches.

The guard comes to the cell door. Horatio is let out after some reluctance from the Spanish man. He does not look back at Archie, guilt and anger still wreaking too much havoc within him to trust himself with one last backward glance. Archie is left alone in his cot. Unable to move, both from a mental and physical exhaustion caused by this encounter, he once again lays back and allows bitter thoughts of self-reproach to whistle through his mind.

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	6. Part 6

**PART 6****__**

**_By Lizard_**

The following day, the atmosphere in that dimly lit cell is as strained as ever, if not more so. Rallying his spirit like the good sailor he was, Horatio tries to lessen the palpable tension with light, inconsequential conversation, even a joke here and there. But it is no use - contrary to its purpose, it only makes the two men even more aware of their difficult predicament. Archie racks his brain to find some way of alleviating it, even slightly - they were, after all, living together in this cell and it would only make each other's company harder to bear if the seemingly unbreakable silence that had permeated the cell for the past two days was not breached.

In an attempt to cover up a particularly awkward moment of quiet that evening, Horatio bluntly says, "I believe you are becoming too lazy for your own good, Archie. It's time you had some exercise to strengthen your legs." Without further ado, he reaches a hand out towards Archie to pull him up off his cot. Archie hesitantly takes it and, grasping Horatio's arm with his other hand, he is pulled up from the cot and set unsteadily upon his legs; hoping beyond hope that he would not betray himself. Living in the same room was bad enough, this close proximity would be torture. He straightens his back as much as he can and, using Horatio's shoulder as a support, begins to slowly walk around the room.

'You see, Horatio, I am not as lazy and weak as you would have me be. Have my legs stood the test?' Despite his bravado, he is genuinely in some discomfort, and Horatio wisely ignores this self-assured statement and slides his arm around Archie's waist. He is dismayed to feel how thin his friend has become from lack of nourishment and unconsciously he hugs him closer to his body as he anticipates their pending escape from the prison. His fingers spread over the flesh on Archie's side and rub slightly, instinctively seeking to give and receive as much body heat as possible. A burgeoning warmth begins in Horatio's chest, which he decides to call contentment.

Archie feels another emotion entirely. Panic. The stroking fingers on his side seem to make his skin all over his body even more sensitive. With the arm around his waist, there is nowhere else to place his own arm but across Horatio's back. He continues to walk stiffly along - his muscles causing him a little pain, his insides causing a different pain as they roil around within him. As a consequence, Archie grips his friend's shoulder sporadically, hoping it will somehow stop him from doing anything he might regret, though his abdomen burns with the urge to touch further, stroke, caress, *feel*...Silently he curses Horatio for being so solicitous.

Horatio is no less worried than ever - the tight grip his friend had on the flesh of his back was surely signalling that he had had enough exercise for one day. He breaks the heavy silence with the words, "I think that's enough walking for you, old man. You deserve a rest." He turns his head to smile encouragingly at his friend, only to see his eyes closed in what seems to be relief.  He gently leads Archie back to his cot where he sits down upon it with a small sigh. Horatio hovers over him, wondering what he can do next to keep silence from overwhelming them again as it so often does. Spying the comb on the little table between their cots, he whisks it up and says in the semblance of a teasing voice, "Come along, Archie, I shall tidy up that mass of hay upon your head. Just because you are sick does not mean you may look like an animal."

Archie's strained face suddenly splits with a slightly too wide smile. "I'm surprised you are not looking your usual well-groomed self, Mr Hornblower; especially with the Duchess in residence." A spark in Archie's eyes at this last comment thankfully goes undetected. "And besides, who are you to complain? At least I have an excuse for looking beastly." Without a reply, Horatio sits down beside Archie on his cot and begins to restore some order to the messy blonde hair. Archie sits as still as possible and watches the furrow of concentration on his friend's brow. His nostrils flare as he breaths in his scent. At that moment, Horatio looks down into Archie's eyes and he starts at the darkened and dilated pupils. Wondering what on earth could have gotten into his friend, he tries to open his lips to speak. But he cannot - that warmth of contentment in his chest now rises in temperature and he feels suddenly light-headed. Whatever was about to happen was undoubtedly a wickedness of some sort to hold his attention upon his friend in such a manner. Despite a growing anxiety at the back of his mind, he still stares deep into Archie's eyes. Out of the corner of his field of vision, he sees Archie's fingers gripping the bed-sheet in the same manner they had gripped his shoulder. Notices the faint glimmer of sweat on the golden skin of his forehead, the slight tightening of the muscles around his mouth - caused by his exertions earlier, no doubt, Horatio says to himself briskly. Even as he thinks this, his hand holding the comb falls back onto his lap.

Archie watches the shifting emotions upon Horatio's face. Everything suddenly seems to be in sharp focus - he concentrates his gaze on the short stubble on Horatio's chin. The dark curly hair laying messily on his forehead and over his ears. The sharp angles of his cheek bones, further accentuated with the lack of good food; creating shadows below his eyes. And those eyes...those deep brown eyes darkening with an indescribable emotion - Archie dares not call it lust. He doubts whether Horatio himself knows what he is feeling. But Archie cannot help himself - the urge to make contact is too much to hold back. Lifting his hand, he touches the skin beneath his friend's eyes with the tip of his forefinger, noticing the tell-tale signs of weariness there. Moves to brush over his left eyebrow; the soft hairs tickling slightly, but Archie rigorously stops his finger from jerking lest he break the magic that is holding Horatio so still and complying. The finger glides down the smooth cheek to the dip in the centre of Horatio's upper lip, then down to touch the lower one. The lips part involuntarily, the tiniest of gaps allowing his warm breath out to bathe that forefinger.

A sudden sharp clanging and squealing sound shatters the fog around the two men as a faraway un-oiled gate is roughly opened and shut. Their hearts leap in alarm and start pounding in their chests. Archie drops his finger quickly down to his side, amazed that Horatio has allowed things to proceed as far as they had. Horatio snaps his head down to look at his hand limply holding the comb in his lap. He suddenly grips it hard, the teeth of the comb biting into his palm. Standing up with renewed vigour partially fuelled by his still furiously beating heart, he makes a general comment about their cell looking more of a pig sty than it already was and potters around the cell setting things straight. Always making sure his gaze is averted.

Archie remains sitting for a while contemplating this new development. After some fierce internal debate, his old caustic sarcasm saves the day and allows him to see the humour in the situation, and one corner of his lips lift in a reluctant smile. Archie swivels round to lie down on the cot, thinking about what Horatio's response to his actions might signify.

When Horatio next dares to throw his glance in the direction of the cot, he sees his friend lying on his side, turned away from him, seemingly fast asleep.

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	7. Part 7

**PART 7****__**

**_By Lizard_**

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Horatio lays motionless in his cot, arms rigid at his sides and forces his breathing to soften so that he may listen to his friend's gentle intakes of air. The faintest grey light of dawn leaks in through the barred cell window, allowing him to vaguely make out Archie's shape opposite him. Although the quiet seems serene to an outsider, no such serene thoughts are going through Horatio's mind. Disturbing images of something he dares not name even to himself flash before his eyes. Quick snatches of the nightmare he had yesterday following his encounter with Archie and his forefinger - he tries half-heartedly to grasp at them and identify them, but he knows he cannot. Should not. He continues to lay there, still as a statue, remembering with self-disgust and confusion the state he was in when he awoke; feet and hands cold because of the blanket he had kicked off in his sleep; sweat trickling down the sides of his head and dampening his back making his shirt stick uncomfortably; and most notably of all a raging erection lifting his nightshirt up several inches away from his body.  

Horatio ponders once again about Archie's actions yesterday. What could have got into the man? Was he just showing his friendship? A way of forgiving me for my ridiculous and unfounded outburst? Questions, questions, and more questions. No answers. And he dares not question himself, or try to find a reason for his own actions, or lack thereof. If one were to ask him why he had stayed so perfectly still as Archie had...*explored* his face, he will not know what to say. All he is aware of is that every sensible part of his brain had seemed to shut down, leaving only the most raw of senses functioning. Breathing in Archie's scent, his flavour. Hearing the thick silence around them being broken by their slightly laboured breaths. Seeing Archie's innocent blue eyes darken into something not so innocent, and far more enticing. Feeling that smooth fingertip glide languorously over his face. The only sense that had not been played with was taste...

That thought brings such an image to Horatio's mind that he swiftly turns on his side and draws his arms and legs inwards tightly, shutting his eyes in a hope that he can drive away such confusing and...sinful thoughts. What is happening to him? Can it be that he is...*attracted* to Archie? He had heard stories of men being sexually involved - most shocking of all were the rumours he had heard of Jack Simpson and Archie. But he is not like that base, self-serving monster! He would never dare to harm his dear friend in such an unclean and selfish manner! 

Perhaps the lack of female companionship has...made his body turn to intimacy with men? He cringes at the vile thought, disgusted at his uncontrollable sexual urges. My best friend needs my care and attention most of all at this difficult time, and what do I do? I...I am...I cannot even say it to myself.

Horatio's inner turmoil continues for another few minutes, though to him it seems like torturous hours. Finally he comes to a decision - he will approach Archie and ask him as coolly and calmly as possible what he had meant by his actions the previous day. He rehearses what he will say to him, determined not to let anything alert Archie to what his own reaction had been. But not yet - he will not ask Archie that day, it is too soon. He might unwittingly lose control, and...he did not know *what* he might do, but Horatio could feel that palpable tension on the verge of coming to fruition, a black swirling mass of emotion and feeling that he dreaded; and yet was thrilled by.

Coming to the conclusion that he would ask Archie about the matter tomorrow, he unwinds from his scrunched-up position on his cot to a slightly more relaxed state, drawing the blanket up to his chest and putting his hands behind his head. As if pulled by some invisible magnetism, he turns his head to look at Archie's back as he lays peacefully in sleep. A little more sunlight now trickles through the window, tinting that familiar blonde hair a bright golden-brown in places, making it stand out in comparison to the drab grey blanket covering the rest of his body. Horatio remains motionless and unconsciously contemplates the aesthetic beauty of those strands of shining hair, mussed up with sleep. Imagining what it would feel like to run his fingers slowly through it...

This is the last thought to pass through Horatio's mind before he closes his eyes and dozes off.

~~~~####~~~~####~~~~####~~~~


	8. Part 8

**PART 8****__**

**_By Lizard_**

Archie watches Horatio as he drags in the bucket of cold water they have been given to bathe with into the centre of the cell. "There you are, my friend," Horatio says briefly. "You may bathe first while I make our beds." He pushes the bucket to the end of Archie's cot where he can reach it and throws a rag onto his lap to clean with. 

Archie thinks for a second. "Think I'm going to need some help from you, though," he tells his friend. Concentrating so hard on not betraying his lack of composure, Horatio doesn't notice the careful, almost tentative tone in Archie's voice, and he nods his head straight away without thinking. Only when his friend looks back at him intensely for a moment does he realise what a dangerous situation he has let himself fall into. With a nervous twitch to his lip, he says half-jokily, "Well, I shall always be nearby, anyway," waving a hand expansively to point out their imprisonment. 

Archie smiles. "I know," he replies at length. He quickly looks down, busily loosening the ties on his shirt. His fingers quiver slightly with restlessness as he does so, and his heart once again begins thumping wildly. Taking up the cleaning rag, he wets it and starts to wipe it over his chest, deliberately spending more time on doing so than that action might warrant, flicking his gaze up to Horatio as he does so. Their eyes meet briefly before Horatio quickly turns away. Archie sees this and is mildly amused. When he had been completely bed-ridden, Horatio had been untroubled by the sight of him in a state of undress. They had often chatted away happily while he lay on his cot completely naked beneath his blanket, and not a flicker of discomfort would show on Horatio's face. Archie found this uncharacteristic shyness very endearing.

Horatio quietly smoothes the blanket upon his cot in a rhythmic fashion, but in his mind he is roundly telling himself off. What idiotic filth has taken over your brain, you fool? For heaven's sake, he's only taken his shirt off! You have seen him thus an immeasurable number of times, and even *more* of him than perhaps you would be willing to recall. Damn this accursed cell! If only he were able to get away from Archie for just a moment to gather his thoughts together, then surely he'd find a way to resolve the matter. What folly had he ever committed that the gods thought to punish him with this...attraction? Could they not at least have the decency to wait until they had escaped before sending this demon his way? At least then he would be able to flee to a safe place where he might contemplate rationally. Suddenly feeling silly at his ridiculous thoughts, Horatio turns round smartly towards the other cot just as Archie looks up once again.

Archie licks his lips nervously. "Would you mind washing my back now, Horatio? My arms are somewhat fatigued and I don't think I can reach all parts of my back; not without a brush, anyway." Stopping his speech before he babbles on ceaselessly, he swivels to the side on his cot so that Horatio might sit behind him. Attempting to clear his dry throat, Horatio bravely strides forward and settles on the proffered seat. Forcing himself not to think, he plunges the rag into the bucket of cold water and hesitantly begins to wash Archie's back. 

Horatio holds his own back uncomfortably stiff and bites his lip hard to prevent his hand from shaking, ordering his body not to feel any pleasure at the sight of his friend's skin and shoulders. Still unhealthily thin from illness, the shoulder blades stand out sharply. Horatio notices the sparse light freckles on his back. The very faint line of little brown hairs that travels from the nape of Archie's neck, along his back and down where it is cut off from sight by his trouser waist. Bringing his gaze back up to the back of that blond head, Horatio notices how delicate the neck is - slender and smooth and *perfect*. Imagines what it might be like to run his fingers down that neck, over the thin shoulders and along those arms. All coated in that beautiful unmarred golden skin. A hot, swirling sensation begins in the pit of his stomach at the thought. Horatio unconsciously moves the cleaning rag across his friend's body as his imagination dictates, the touch of the rough cloth becoming slower and more caressing. 

Archie's eyes are closed in quiet enjoyment, but he suddenly becomes alert at the change in Horatio's movements. Tensing his muscles as he feels Horatio's cold fingers touching the top of his right shoulder. Realising the other hand is still scrubbing his back gently, Archie quickly tells himself not to be such a ninny. Horatio isn't making a pass at you, you daft fool! He is just holding you so that he can wash you properly. But a treacherous little voice at the back of his mind reminds him of what had happened two days before. The look in Horatio's eyes, the lips parting at his light touch. Suddenly, all of his thoughts turn to liquid as Horatio's hand starts to stroke his upper arm and shoulder softly. Oh, that feels so *nice*. Archie's head dips a little as he draws in an unsteady breath.

Horatio's fingers spread to get a firmer grip upon his arm before resuming their stroking. Archie shivers slightly, both from the cold air and from the irresistible sensation of Horatio's fingers sliding over his skin. The hand holding the rag now glides up his spine to the nape of his neck. Round to the side under his ear - he unconsciously turns his head a little to encourage further contact. Realising that Horatio was sure to pull back now, Archie waits disappointedly for the hand to withdraw. His eyes suddenly fly open in startled delight when Horatio brings his arm round to the front. Archie feels the rough cloth scrape slightly, knowing it requires wetting again, and not giving a damn. Just hoping that his friend will not wake from whatever trance he is in and stop his ministrations.

The skin on the underside of Horatio's arm and on the side of Archie's shoulder rub against each other as the hand holding the rag skims across the front of his shoulders. Bumping over the collarbone. Down the middle of the chest to the navel. Archie feels a burning urge growing, starting from where the rag has touched his belly, inching downwards until it coalesces in the form of an uncomfortable erection. He welcomes and regrets this new addition, hoping it would not distract him from the pleasure he was experiencing. The rag slides back up the middle of his chest where it starts to rub in circles. Archie's lips part, allowing his quavering breaths to rush out more easily, and his eyes slip closed. The rag suddenly grazes over his left nipple, causing an intense, slightly painful thrill. A small deep groan escapes from Archie's open mouth.

Hearing the sound, Horatio drops his hands and the cleaning rag in shock. Oh god, oh god, what the hell was he doing? He had lost control, gone absolutely irrevocably out of his mind. He starts to stand, ready to dart away. But he is kept in place when Archie spins around and grasps his wrist. Both men look at each other, their eyes betraying a mixture of thrilling excitement and fear. Horatio looks down at the hand holding him fast, detachedly noticing the contrast between Archie's pale brown skin and his own white-pink hand.

"Archie?" he whispers, looking for all the world like a startled rabbit as his gaze flicks up to meet his friend's. Unable to bear the stifling tension between them any longer, and without allowing rational thought to influence his actions, Archie Kennedy seizes his best friend's face and presses their lips together.

Though the meeting is very brief, the response the kiss evokes is explosive. Not trusting himself to move, Horatio fixes his eyes upon his friend once more, breathing heavy and quick, throat dry, palms starting to sweat and brain struggling to wrench its owner back to reality. Horatio hoarsely repeats, "Archie?"

No less affected by the kiss, Archie slides down slowly over Horatio's neck. Deliberately taking his time so that he would be able to remember the texture and suppleness of the skin there and the pulsing blood vessel on the underside of the jaw. A comfortable emotion settles in his breast - relief. A growing confidence as he realises that Horatio still hasn't removed himself from his hold.  At length, when he has had his fill of the sight of his friend's flushed face and the feel of his neck, Archie slowly brings his gaze back to meet Horatio's.

"Yes, Horatio?" he replies, making his voice suddenly husky. With his fingers still on his friend's neck, Archie feels the shifting of muscle as Horatio swallows. The faint clicking noise of this action seems to echo around the little cell with all the startling clarity of a shattered pane of glass.

"What did you do? What are we doing?" Horatio stutters mindlessly, forcing himself not to do anything that might indicate to Archie the immense pleasure the gentle touch upon his neck is inflicting.

"I kissed you, Horatio," Archie states boldly, refusing to let Horatio tear away his gaze. Moving his face slightly closer, he quickly looks down at the lips so close to his own and back up to the dark brown eyes. "And I liked it," he whispers.

Horatio swallows again, panic and confusion filtering through his lust-filled mind, jolting his brain back to working order. With a start, he rears his head back to a safe distance, allowing Archie's hands to fall from his neck. He stands quickly, uncaring of stepping on the long-forgotten cleaning rag he had dropped on the dirty stone floor. Surreptitiously he lifts his right hand and touches his fingers to his lips for a moment, before he catches himself in the act and drops his arm down to his side once more. His heart thumps so hard in his chest as to cause actual physical discomfort. Still reeling with confusion, Horatio opens and closes his mouth several times. But no sound comes out. Unable to bear and further ordeal, he unsteadily returns to his cot.

Frustrated and disappointed, Archie tries unsuccessfully to calm his beating heart and arousal with a deep breath. Shutting his eyes briefly in resignation, he bends down to pick up the cleaning rag. Forcing the events of the last few moments from his mind, he dips the rag back into the bucket of water and resumes taking his bath.

~~~~####~~~~####~~~~####~~~~


	9. Part 9

**PART 9****__**

**_By Lizard_**

Horatio inhaled the familiar salty damp air, holding it within his lungs for a prolonged moment before releasing his breath. After an absence of almost three months, he was back where he belonged. At sea. On the Indy. With his ship-mates and his captain. And especially with a completely recovered Archie by his side. Horatio turned his gaze from the rhythmic waves he had been contemplating and glanced at the darker entrance leading to the midshipmen's mess where he knew his friend was at present addressing the other men. Instantly an image of that familiar smiling face materialised before his mind's eye. The cheery grin soon dissolved to an expression so dark and delicious that Horatio had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second and shake his head to dispel it. Even after almost three weeks since their encounter in that Spanish prison, Horatio could still hardly believe he had witnessed such a look of lust upon his friend's face. Lust that was directed at *him*. And that he had *responded* to.

He had been so preoccupied in dealing with Hunter, keeping the morale of his crew alive, worrying about the despatches he had given to that actress Kitty Cobham, he had not had the opportunity to think about that...that *kiss* until now. Were he willing to be truthful, he would have to admit that he had embraced those distractions with open arms, searching for anything to busy his mind and keep him from thinking about Archie. Feeling silly and ashamed at his lack of will power, Horatio decided that enough was enough, letting his train of thought run loose at last. He relived once again that feeling of intense pleasure that had tightened his chest at the first touch of warm lips upon his own. The slightly tickling sensation of Archie's palms moving smoothly over his neck...

Taking in a quietly shuddering breath, Horatio opened his eyes to squint at the reflected sunshine on the surface of the waves before him. Was there any point in denying that he had enjoyed his friend's ministrations? Any denying that he, Horatio Hornblower, found a member of his own sex attractive? Always one to despise self-delusionment, he fiercely told himself the truth. I like Archie. I liked him kissing me. I wanted to kiss him then, and I still do now. The rational part of his mind consistently berated him, telling him he was a bloody fool to consider such a course of action. It is against the Articles, for God's sake! What if you are caught? You would be put to death! *Death*! Are you listening to me? For Archie's sake, for your sake, forget this folly and be satisfied with the one taste of heaven you had. It will have to do. But for all his inner struggle, it was the rarely mentioned emotional side of our hero that was dominant. 

Archie wants you. You want Archie. If you are careful you will not be caught. Think upon it, Horatio, the voice whispered wickedly in his head. Already five-and-twenty and your sexual experience amounts to two meagre kisses. So what if he is a man? You have admitted so many times before that one must make the most of one's resources. His mind shied away from this cold, almost remorseless outlook upon the situation. His feelings for Archie were not merely sexual. What about that deep-rooted friendship? That bond they had? Surely that amounted to something. He dared not imagine *what* it could amount to, so alien were the feelings of confusion swirling in the pit of his stomach. The swirling sensations soon began to take on another guise as they headed downwards. Horatio remained outwardly calm, but his hands gripped the side of the boat tightly, the edge of the wood biting painfully into his palm, as he tried hard to control his wandering thoughts. Finally he came to a decision and, whipping his hands from their grip, he determinedly walked towards the entrance of the midshipmen's mess, preparing for what was likely to be one of the hardest confrontations of his life.

**********

"Mr. Kennedy," said a voice from behind.

Archie turned and automatically stood stiffly when he saw his friend Horatio looking almost sternly at him. Ever since he had so stupidly kissed his friend on the lips, he had been unable to keep a straight face when in close proximity. 

"Might I have a word with you." A pregnant pause. "In private." Archie's heart immediately began thumping frantically in his chest at the words, even as he told himself not to be such an emotional little girl. He looked away for a second before focussing on Horatio's face.

"Yes, of course, Mr Hornblower." He inclined his head to invite his friend to lead the way, looking away from that dark, handsome face. Both men swallowed nervously, though neither saw the other do so. After a short walk, they reached a small storeroom, the thick layer of dust on the floor indicating how little it was used. Horatio had passed this room several times whilst briskly walking about the ship. In agitation, he turned to see Archie's reaction to his choice. To his dismay, his friend promptly sneezed upon his opening the door. Smiling weakly as his friend grinned from behind his handkerchief, he shut the door, plunging them into musty darkness save for the small porthole on the opposite wall. Leaning his hand momentarily to ensure the door would not blow open from some rogue draught, he drew in a deep breath and began,

"Archie, I...I would like to speak with you about..." his voice catching, Horatio hastily swallowed and licked his lips. "...about what happened during our imprisonment in Spain." He turned his face anxiously up to Archie's face, but the meagre light cast deep shadows from his eyes downwards; he made no response, bar a slightly harsher intake of breath. They stood awkwardly in the silence, Horatio desperately willing his friend to break it. But Archie merely stood, frozen, forcing Horatio to do the running. Clearing his throat, he continued, 

"What you did, what *we* did...I...I liked it, and I want...what I mean to say is, I would *like* it very much, if we..." Horatio cursed silently as his voice caught in his throat again. "...if we continued such...activity." He cringed inwardly at the ridiculous term. Why can you not just tell him clearly? A kiss. Lots of kisses. And more, whatever more was to be had.

A cold sweat began to dampen Horatio's back and make his shirt stick unpleasantly. A shot of trepidation gripped his chest as Archie still refused to reply. All he did was lift the corner of his lips in a tiny smile of...what was it, amusement? Irony? Disdain?

"To what might you be referring to, Mr Hornblower? I could not quite capture your meaning due to your excessive pausing." A sudden grin accompanied this, taking away any hint of scorn in the question. But Horatio was not comforted. Clenching his fists in frustration and rising panic, he blurted out, 

"The kiss, Archie. The kiss! I want you to ki--"

Before he could finish that forbidden demand, Archie lunged at him, pushing him hard against the wall behind them. Horatio winced slightly, but the pain did not concern him as his whole body tensed in anticipation. A brief pause as they looked intensely in each other's eyes. Archie flicked his gaze down to those full lips, seized his friend by the shoulders and pulled him towards him. There mouths collided almost accidentally, but Horatio was quick to take advantage. He slipped his hands around Archie's face and dug his fingers into the thick blond hair, uncaring of the disorder this would cause to his friend's appearance. He pressed his mouth down harder, trying to imprint the feeling into his brain. Archie parted his lips slightly and Horatio blindly followed suit, slipping his eyes closed. A shock of sensation darted through him as something warm and wet teased the inside of his lower lip. Breathing in deeply through his nose, Horatio opened his lips wider, squeezing his eyes shut more tightly as he finally got a taste of Archie's mouth. The unfamiliar flavour was strange yet incredibly delicious, and he welcomed it, pressing his friend's head closer to try and gain more access.

Archie's hands slipped down from his shoulders to rest on Horatio's chest, pressing his fingers forward to feel the lean muscles. He greedily slipped his tongue in to touch Horatio's, his mind dulled with lust and exhilaration. Both men emitted a tiny groan of pleasure as they tasted each other, completely oblivious to the sounds of the crew stomping down wooden steps outside to reach their mess room for lunch. A sudden clanging clatter resounded as someone knocked over a nearby metal bucket. Archie's eyes sprang open and he pushed away, sucking in the stuffy air of the storeroom in breathless gasps. Horatio did likewise, and both men stared at each other, waiting for their chests to stop heaving, hunger still clouding their wits. An unspoken understanding passed between them with their eyes. With a final appraising glance down Horatio's figure, Archie headed towards the door and opened it. He looked back; a slight twitch about his lips and a faint raising of one eyebrow confirmed it.

Horatio watched the door close to behind his friend's back. They would meet again. Tonight.

~~~~####~~~~####~~~~####~~~~


	10. Part 10

**PART 10****__**

**_By Lizard_**

Horatio spent much of that evening within Captain Pellew's cabin, discussing arrangements concerning his new post as lieutenant. Though the privileges bestowed upon him were enough to make anyone thrilled, his heart only began its accelerated beating when he thought about a certain blond-haired friend of his and what had happened in the little-used storeroom only a few hours ago. 

*God* that kiss had felt good, he thought to himself as he feigned attentiveness to whatever Pellew was saying to him. Though there still remained a slight twinge of unease whenever he remembered that Archie was a man, it was soon swamped by a sudden remembrance of the feel of that hot mouth, his exquisite taste, hands pressing on his chest... It was all he could do to keep a straight face and stare impassively at the wall beyond Pellew's shoulder. But alas, Pellew noticed his inattention and, harrumphing indignantly, he briskly told him to get down to the mess room to have some dinner, hoping it would bring back Horatio's presently absent wits.

Horatio retained an aura of decorum as he walked out of the Captain's cabin towards the mess room. Once inside the stuffy, rowdy room, he involuntarily swept the present company with his eyes, finally resting upon the back of Archie's head that was turned towards the man on his right. He surreptitiously straightened his jacket and walked at a steady pace, forcing himself not to run to gain the empty seat next to his friend. But Fortune seemed to have a grudge against him, for the seat was taken by a surly Scottish midshipman who had but recently joined their midst.

Cursing under his breath, then cursing himself for being so silly, he continued round the table to the seat facing Archie. He looked up to watch his friend chatter cheerfully away, seemingly unconcerned that the surly Scottish man was becoming surlier and quieter by the minute. Muttering a thank you as Styles plonked a platter of stew and bread before him, he resumed staring at his friend, waiting to be acknowledged. After what seemed an inordinately long time, Archie finally glanced at Horatio across the table, halting his conversation just slightly to grin cheekily at him.

Horatio began to smile in return, but it was too late, Archie had already turned away. Feeling disgruntled, Horatio finally looked down at his meal and, gripping his spoon with more force than necessary, he began to eat. His bad mood must have communicated itself to his neighbours, for neither of the men sitting either side of him attempted to engage him in conversation. From time to time, Horatio would quickly look up at Archie, then look down again at his plate with a flush suffusing his face when Archie caught his eye. Only when this had happened several times did Horatio suddenly feel embarrassed at his decidedly ludicrous behaviour. He was a full-grown man of twenty-five, for god's sake, and here he was blushing like a school girl when the object of his desire deigned to look at him.

Horatio paused at the thought. Object of his desire. Archie was indeed fine to look at, but still there was that pang of discomfiture at the thought of being sexually attracted to him. Such an idea had always been taboo for him, even among the company of rowdy and boisterous men as made up the crew on this ship. He was not so naive to believe that he was a freak of human nature, he had heard of men being involved in such a manner before. But he had never thought that *he* could be one of them. Even now the realisation made him cringe inwardly. He could not relate to those people in any way - he was a respectable man born of a respected physician; he did not frequent those filthy molly houses at port towns, or immerse himself within the dregs of the theatre, sleeping with anything that came his way. He was not like...like...

Like Archie, whispered a cruel voice in his head. Archie's home is Drury Lane, remember? What do you know about his life before you joined him on the Justinian? What if you are merely another conquest among many for him? Goodness knows, Archie was handsome enough to be sought after by all who saw him, male and female. He has the pick of the crop. What makes you think you are so special to him? Suddenly the food Horatio had been chewing in his mouth becomes unpleasant and heavy, and he swallows it with difficulty. Pushing away his platter in disgust, he leans his elbows upon the table, clasps his hands together and rests his chin upon them, closing his eyes momentarily and sighing quietly in dismay.

From the corner of his eye, Archie noticed Horatio moving his plate and turned to look at him curiously. Observing with a start the glum expression upon his friend's face, he wondered what on earth could have caused him such misery. Feeling a little guilty for deliberately ignoring him throughout his meal, he turned away from the man on his right to face Horatio. He picked up his tankard of ale and waited for his friend to look up at him. As soon as he did so, Archie brought the tankard to his lips, sipping slowly before placing it back on the table. Never taking his eyes off Horatio. Deciding to crank up the tension, he licked his lips quickly for good measure. He was pleased to see that Horatio had indeed perceived what he was doing, if his sudden inhalation and slightly widening eyes were anything to go by. That's my Horatio, thought Archie mischievously. All wide innocent eyes and flaring nostrils. He definitely needs lightening up. Let's see what I can do.

Pushing aside the reasoning that he might have had a little too much to drink, and deciding not to check his actions, Archie stretched his leg out and kicked Horatio under the table. He hurriedly slapped his hand against his mouth to prevent from laughing at the shocked expression on Horatio's face. Finding it too tempting to resist, Archie kicked again, this time a little higher up on Horatio's leg. The shocked look appeared again, but it was soon replaced by a curious mixture of disapproval, amusement and pleased surprise. Archie grinned at him before picking up his spoon and resuming eating the remainder of his food, deciding to prolong this most enjoyable affair at the dinner table - it was the most fun he had had in a long time. A slightly strained appearance settled on Horatio's face every time Archie put his spoon into his mouth, and Archie being the impish creature that he was, milked it for all its' worth. 

Soon, most of the men had left the mess room to return to their duties up on deck. Both Horatio and Archie remained at their table, welcoming the quieter atmosphere, but neither man felt inclined to initiate a conversation between them. The electricity in the air between them was so strong as to be touchable, and they didn't want to start talking lest the delightful tension be broken. At last, with a meaningful look towards the door, Archie slowly stood up and finally spoke to him for the first time during the course of their meal.

"I believe you are due to be on watch this evening, Horatio." The complete incomprehension on Horatio's face was priceless. "So I will be unable to continue our discussion until tomorrow." The incomprehension was replaced with a disgruntled look, much like the one a little boy might have when denied a treat. Archie fought to keep his face completely impassive. "But if you wish to talk to me after your watch, you will most likely find me where we were last. Be sure to bring a candle, we don't want you losing your way, now, do we?" His throat hurting from keeping down the bubble of laughter threatening to burst from him, Archie nonchalantly bid his friend farewell before turning towards the stairs leading up to the deck. Only when he was sure that Horatio could not see him anymore did Archie allow his mirth to spill from him, clapping his hand to his mouth to prevent others from hearing him.

After a few minutes of hilarity, Archie finally gained control of himself and, clearing his throat to try and resume an impression of decorum, he went about his duties, eagerly awaiting sundown. 

~~~~####~~~~####~~~~####~~~~

**_A/N:_** Ahaha! The torture! Sorry about that, folks, but I felt that Archie deserved a little fun after Horatio turned him down *twice*. Now, I wonder what our Indy boys will get up to in Part 11? *g*


	11. Part 11

**_A/N:_** This would have been _Part 11 of "Unleashed"_...except it's not. Why? Because that part is most definitely **R-rated**. I thought there was no point in posting it in this story and making the whole fic R-rated, cos the beginning parts are so tame. So, if you want to read _Part 11_ (which I'm hoping you do!)....

Go to my profile *points to the "Lizard" link at the top of the page* and go to the story "STOREROOM ANTICS". Yes, I know it's a terrible title *g***__**

You can review over here, or over at the R-rated part, though I would prefer if you reviewed here *smiles sweetly*.

Happy reading!

**_~Lizard :)_**

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